


Ni partayli, gar darasuum

by GlamorousGamine



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:49:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23134942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlamorousGamine/pseuds/GlamorousGamine
Summary: The Child has long grown up, and teaches a new group of foundlings. As always, he makes sure his father is remembered.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Original Character(s)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 219





	Ni partayli, gar darasuum

“… and that was the day I swore the Creed, and I have worn the helmet with pride since then,” concluded Yodin. “So you see, I was once a foundling like you, and a bounty at that!” He laughed, his ears wiggling in their slots to the delighted squeals of the foundlings. “There is always room in the Way for those in search of a home, and the choice will always be yours.”

The foundlings all brightened and clapped, and one, a Zabrak girl, piped up, “Do you still have your lucky orb?”

“My what now?”

“Your lucky orb, said to be made of blessed beskar!” said another, a young human boy. “Mak was telling us you always carry it with you, and that’s why you’re such a great warrior.”

Yodin blinked beneath his helmet and reached into his pocket, pulling out a chain, a small, familiar, and much loved metal ball dangling at the end. The foundlings gasped and there were whispers of “I told you so!” “It’s real!”

“They’re still saying it’s lucky? Nonsense!” he said sharply, though not without humor. “What Mandalorian worth his armor relies on luck rather than skill? No, no, I’m afraid Mak was playing a joke on all of you.”

A chorus of disappointed “aww”s ran through the audience. “What is it then? Is it really beskar?”

Yodin grinned. “Not even durasteel. It’s the knob from a handle on the console of my _buir’s_ decommissioned Razor Crest,” he tossed it up in the air and caught it in his hand. “I’d be lucky to get even a single Calamari flan for this.”

“Then why do you carry it with you?”

Yodin’s grin softened into a smile as the memory of those early days, the first happy days of many to come, flooded his mind. “Because it is the first thing my _buir_ ever gave to me,” he said. “Well, the first material thing that I could keep with me. As you now know, he’d already given me my freedom and many other valuable things before this.”

“But it’s still your treasure, right?”

Yodin looked at the Zabrak girl who had asked, her eyes shining. He felt the tears prick his eyes and thanked the Creed for how his helmet hid them. “Yes,” he said. “It is an irreplaceable treasure to me.”

“Hey everyone!” a booming voice called into the nursery before a blue helmet poked in. “It’s dinner time!”

There was a stampede as the foundlings got up to go to the dining hall, but they each said their thank yous and goodbyes to Yodin before they sprinted away. Yodin then got up, slipping the ball back into his pocket, and walked with Mak. “You’re still telling the foundlings that I carry a lucky charm with me?”

“Works as a good icebreaker doesn’t it?” She laughed and nudged her pauldron against his, their mudhorn skulls touching for a moment. “Besides, _ba’buir_ , it gives you a good segue into skill, not luck.” Mak was technically his great-great-granddaughter, but everyone from her grandparents onward simply called him _ba’buir_. “I know today’s a special day, so I delivered your food to your room.”

“Ah, thank you, _ad’ika_ ,” he said warmly. “Enjoy your dinner.” They parted ways at the next intersection of tunnels and Yodin held his gaze at her retreating figure. She’d been worried about him, as this was the first group of foundlings he had seen since the very first generation of those he’d adopted had all passed away now. It had hurt for a while, and he often wondered if his _buir_ had felt similar, forming strong bonds with others knowing that your lifespans would mean someone would be left behind. The only difference was that it seemed he would always be one left behind rather than leaving. Still, every time new foundlings came, he found his joy renewed, as well as his determination that they would grow up well, whether they decided to swear the Creed or not. Several he’d raised hadn’t, but they still maintained friendly contact. The memories and feelings followed him all the way to his room.

At the foot of his bed was a tray filled with his favorites. There was a bowl of crispy frog legs with a spicy dipping sauce, and a platter of the meat cut into thin strips with the skin still attached. Completing the meal was a dish of vegetables, bowl of bone broth, and a small bottle of tihaar with two small cups.

He brought the tray over to a small box he kept by his bed. Punching in a combination, Yodin opened the box to reveal an urn and a photo, blurred from when it was taken and from the ravages of time, but still the only photo in known existence of Din Djarin’s face. Pouring out their glasses, Yodin set one in front of the shrine, and then raised his own glass, the ball once again dangling between his fingers.

“Happy birthday, _buir_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the Mando'a saying, "Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum": I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.


End file.
